


Three Acts

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles Stilinski, Goodbye Sex, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:58:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: The same act can mean a million different things. Like goodbye. Like hello. Like I love you. They've never been good with words, but actions have always spoken louder.





	Three Acts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).



> For bunnywest who wanted Stiles away at college and Peter paying a surprise visit because he misses him.

__

_goodbye_

They don’t want to start because that means they’ll have to finish. It’s an exercise in futility. Stiles is leaving either way. They may as well make the most of it.

It’s almost like going through the motions at first, following through on a sense of duty. Stiles closes his eyes and he kisses Peter and Peter sucks on his bottom lip, grazes it with his teeth. Their lips part, tongues sliding together, hands touching shoulders before trailing down arms, wrapping around bodies. All of those thoughtless things. It feels like it’s progressing towards insert tab A into slot B. The last thing Stiles wants is mundane goodbye sex. The foreboding hangs heavy in the air either way.

Stiles pulls back and Peter reaches out, tracing his fingertips over Stiles’ face, taking him in.

“You’re not going to forget what I look like,” Stiles tells him, but he can’t put as much bite into the words as he wants.

“I know,” Peter says, like it’s a promise.

They haven’t talked about this. They’re not those people. Stiles and Peter are a couple, strengthened by everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve done to and for each other. They’re committed in an unwavering way. Stiles is going to college on the other side of the country tomorrow. These are all facts. It doesn’t feel like there’s any questions to answer. What is there to talk about?

“Let’s go to bed,” Stiles says, taking hold of the hand that’s tracing his jaw. Peter nods his head, allowing himself to be led.

Stiles pulls him close at the foot of the bed, bodies pressed together as he kisses him again. He second guesses himself. He’s never had to think about how this plays out before. Everything has always been instinct and want and pleasure seeking. They learnt quick that they were both hedonistic and unapologetic about it. Sex is a celebration of that, but tonight maybe it’s something else.

They move to the bed, stilted, awkward, but it never doesn’t feel right when Peter’s body is weighing him into the mattress. Stiles slides a hand into his hair, pushing his hips upwards, the familiarity soothing until a little voice tells him he might not get this again for a long time and a hollow opens up inside him. He closes his eyes tight, turning his face away, as though that will be the tell for Peter that the mood has changed. Peter will smell it on him, it will be soaking into his sheets, and he’ll be left with it tomorrow when Stiles is on a plane, as far away from Peter as he’s ever been, the gap getting wider by the second.

He pushes Peter’s T-shirt up, pulls it over his head, dragging his hands down his back, grabbing his ass through his pants. He’s always shameless in what he wants. He wonders if Peter can tell what a conscious effort it is for him to figure out what his instincts would usually tell him to do next.

Peter slides his hands beneath Stiles’ shirt, bunching up the material as he looks down at the exposed skin, running his hands over it, thumb deliberately sweeping out to run over a mole. Stiles sits up just enough to get the shirt over his head, tossing it aside, pulling Peter back down on top of him. He doesn’t want to be looked at. He doesn’t want to be coveted. He doesn’t want Peter’s doubt sticking to his skin. Tomorrow isn’t about them, it doesn’t affect what they have. It changes everything though.

Stiles pushes his hands between them, unbuttoning Peter’s pants, drawing down the zipper. He shoves them carelessly as far as he can reach and then Peter moves to take them off. While there’s distance between their bodies, Stiles takes the opportunity to get rid of his own pants as well. He loves being naked, loves that giddy, debauched feeling of confidence it gives him, but now it feels like a layer of skin is being pulled away from him and he’s exposed and vulnerable in a way that he’ll carry with him for months. He doesn’t know how to feel complete without Peter any more.

He is not going to cry tonight. Not until he gets home. He closes his eyes and takes a breath and then clings to Peter as soon as he’s close enough, Peter pressing his face into Stiles’ neck, hands running up and down Stiles’ sides. His touch is light, tentative, as though Stiles might withdraw permission at any moment. He still thinks there’s a possibility this could be a break-up. Should it be? Peter has offered, he doesn’t want to be a burden or an obligation. He could never be either of those things to Stiles though. They’ll make it work. They always do. What’s a few thousand miles? They’ve battled harder foes than that.

Stiles rolls them, making Peter grunt as he lands on him, but when he grins, Peter smiles back and Stiles feels a little better. They kiss again, a little more natural, a little less loaded, Peter’s arms sliding around his back, holding him close. It feels good, their legs fitting together as perfectly as their mouths. Stiles doesn’t want to lose this feeling. He knows how his anxiety eats away at good things.

He reaches out, opening the drawer by the bed and pulling out the lube, passing it over to Peter. He kisses him again as Peter moves, and then wet fingers are pressing at his hole. He lifts his hips, pushing into it with a moan. This is always so easy. He’s a little more tense than usual right now though, but that’s what foreplay is for.

It takes him a while to truly relax to Peter’s touch, to give it up like he usually does without thinking. He abandons trying to kiss Peter, getting his body under control is taking too much conscious effort, so he just whines and nuzzles at his neck, a habit he picked up from Peter, one that he knows soothes him. Being scented by his boyfriend is an honour to Peter.

When he’s moving his hips fluidly, Peter’s fingers sliding inside him without discomfort, he lifts his head, reaching behind himself to tug at Peter’s hand. He’s about to roll over, pull Peter with him, but then he sees that look in Peter’s eye, the uncertainty and dejection, and he can’t stand seeing that the whole time. He can’t trust himself to hold it together.

Instead he moves over, positioning himself beside Peter on hands and knees, not daring to look at Peter’s reaction. This isn’t a rejection. It’s the opposite. It feels so loaded in the moment though. His stomach drops as he kneels there, left waiting, his eyes filling with tears until he feels Peter move, the bed dipping, Peter’s hands on his hips. It makes him jump slightly but then Peter’s thumbs are rubbing over his hips bones and his hard cock is pressing against Stiles’ ass and everything is okay. He lets the tension go. He has nothing to be afraid of in this moment. That comes later.

Stiles’ entire body is consumed when Peter pushes inside him. For a moment, nothing else exists and everything is just _yes good._ It’s such an inescapable feeling, so unrelentingly intimate. It’s literally the closest you can get to another person. Stiles can never quite get over how wonderful that feels.

Peter waits on his cue, waits for him to shift his hips, seeking, before he grinds against him. Stiles whines, dropping his forehead down onto folded arms as Peter pushes himself deeper, offering himself up. Stiles wants to still feel this tomorrow when he’s sat on that plane, Peter quite literally under his skin.

Peter starts to roll his hips, testing the waters, but Stiles is so ready, all of that tension melted away. His spine feels molten and the friction of Peter moving inside him is utter bliss that he never wants to end. Peter’s thrusts get stronger, starting to build into a wonderful rhythm, and Stiles tries to lose himself but something is missing. Peter is being careful and measured, but not out of concern for Stiles. They know each other’s bodies well enough that caution hasn’t been a factor in a long time. Peter is drawing this out. He’s trying to make it last. It makes something clench in Stiles’ chest.

He concentrates on the feel of Peter’s cock inside him, and not the tightness of his own throat. He rocks his hips back against Peter, tries to light up some instinct inside him, but Peter just leans forward, covering Stiles’ body with his own, curving himself over his back. Everything is heat and sweat and Stiles feels like he might suffocate. Peter can’t move much from this angle, but that’s not the point. Peter wants to revel in him. He wants to satiate his wolf. He wants to put off the inevitable.

This isn’t the end, Stiles tells himself over and over, in time with the shallow rocking of Peter into his body. Peter’s not losing him. He’s not being left behind. This is just what happens next. Stiles goes to college. Peter stays in Beacon Hills. That’s not a reflection of their relationship. Stiles will still be Peter’s. Some days he feels like it’s the only thing he knows how to be anymore. He’s never as comfortable in his own skin, in his own head, as when they’re together.

He unfolds one of his arms, not an easy feat with both of their weights on him, but he finally gets it free to brace on the bed, knowing with certainty that Peter will twine their fingers together. Stiles likes holding hands. Peter likes having a handle to keep him close by. Stiles likes being kept close.

As Peter holds onto him, he lifts himself up slightly, thrusting into him more fully. It’s still not as good as all that strength and power that Stiles is used to, it’s a restrained version of what they have, and it hurts a little bit because Stiles doesn’t want to remember them in this melancholy way with all the weight of tomorrow threatening to crush them. He’s wants his passionate, enthusiastic boyfriend. It feels like he’s packed away with all of Stiles’ things though, waiting to board a plane to what currently feels like another world.

They haven’t talked about it. They’re not those people. Peter hasn’t said his doubts out loud, but Stiles knows them all by heart. He’s not good enough. He doesn’t deserve Stiles. He’s too old and not nearly compelling enough to compete. He’s held him back for too long. Stiles doesn’t know how to make any of that better other than being there every day, still being his.

Peter has never even admitted that he’ll miss him, but isn’t this a confession, the way he moves against him and inside him, holding his hand like a lifeline. They don’t get sentimental, they don’t say the words, but Stiles knows that he would trust this man with his life. He knows he couldn’t bear to be without him.

It’s just distance. In the modern world that’s nothing. There a million ways they can speak and see each other every day. They can’t touch though. They can’t do this. Right now there’s not an atom of space between them, on a molecular level they’re basically one. Peter wants to draw that out. Stiles is inclined to let him have it. Tonight, he goes back to his dad’s house. Tomorrow, he boards a plane. But right now, in this moment, it’s only them and their bodies that speak the words they haven’t been able to say.

_I need you._

_I’ll miss you._

_Goodbye._

 

__

_hello_

Stiles opens the door and his eyes go wide with a surge of breathless joy. Peter. Peter is here. Peter is standing outside his fucking dorm room.

Stiles launches himself without thought, jumping up and wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist. Peter catches him, hands cradled under his ass, and it’s the most amazing feeling in the world. Stiles wraps his arms around Peter’s neck, trying to kiss him, but he’s grinning too wide to make it effective. He laughs, resting their foreheads together as Peter steps into the room, kicking the door shut behind himself.

“You missed me,” Stiles says, his voice bright and sing-song.

“You missed _me_ ,” Peter counters, gesturing to the armful of Stiles he’s still carrying.

“I did,” Stiles sighs. Words they still haven’t really admitted to each other over all of the calls and video chats and texts. They get quiet whenever it’s time to part ways, like they’re daring themselves or each other, dragging it on and hoping to be brave. It seems so simple now that Peter is right here in front of him. How could he ever doubt this?

“I missed you too,” Peter says, not flinching away from Stiles’ gaze. The sincerity hits Stiles deep.

“Bed,” Stiles says.

Peter doesn’t hesitate, looking away from Stiles only to confirm which bed is his. Plaid blanket, Batman plushie in the corner, photos of his friends above the bed. Mostly Peter. So much Peter. Stiles loves to stare at his face. Now he can stare at his everything.

Peter throws them both down and Stiles is so breathless already he doesn’t even get winded. He goes in for another kiss, dragging Peter down to his mouth, everything messy and inexact, saliva on cheeks and chins, because coordination is not something either of them have. Peter is _here._

Stiles laughs, throwing back his head, emotions bubbling over. He laughs until there’s tears in his eyes, hands fisted in Peter’s clothes, bunching them up, making his fingers cramp. He feels a rush of such affection it’s unbelievable. Peter just looks down at him, full of fondness and patience, and it makes Stiles’ heart swell. He’s not ruining this. Somehow, Peter finds it charming.

Stiles takes a wheezing breath, composing himself before pulling Peter down again, managing to keep a straight face for long enough to kiss him properly, mouths aligned, tongues sliding together. He moans, body surging upwards, legs wrapping tighter around Peter’s waist. It feels so fucking good, Peter’s body against his, all of that heat and greedy hands. Jerking off has been a chore compared to this. Stiles doesn’t know how to live without it again.

He pushes that thought aside and drags Peter’s shirt up, finally getting his hands on warm flesh. It feels like the most gratifying thing in the world and he wants more. He slides his hands down, letting his legs fall away so that Peter’s ass is free for groping. He shoves his hands down the back of Peter’s pants, palming his ass, using his grip as leverage to grind up against him. The zipper of his jeans digs into his hard cock, Peter’s waistband tight on his wrists, restricting his movement. All of these clothes are so fucking inconvenient.

Stiles makes a frustrated noise, yanking out his hands and then pushing Peter back until they’re both sat up. He pushes his hoodie off his shoulders, tears his T-shirt over his head, panting as he gives Peter a look that says he better hurry the fuck up. Peter’s smirk is half-hearted. He’s just as desperate as Stiles is. It’s been weeks since they’ve touched.

They get naked in a way that’s purely about practicality, no tease, no sensuous undressing. Stiles sits there on his bed naked, fingers tapping restlessly on his thigh while Peter pauses to unlace his boots. When he finally toes them off, Stiles all but lunges at him, pushing his already open pants out of the way, his cock springing free. Stiles pauses for a second, letting Peter take over. He’s missed that cock. Photos do not do it justice.

He grabs at Peter, pushing him down on the bed and climbing on top of him. He straddles his lap, leaning over to grab the lube from the back of the nightstand drawer where it’s not so subtly hidden. He sits back on Peter’s hips, Peter’s hard cock nudging at the cleft of his ass, and Stiles whines and grinds against it for a moment. He wants it so bad.

He holds out the lube to Peter. “It’s been a while.”

“I should fucking hope so,” Peter responds, but there’s a glint in his eye.

Stiles leans down and kisses him, sloppy and soppy. He’s so far gone for this bastard and he kind of loves it.

He hears the lid of the lube flick open and he keens, sitting back again. Their eyes meet as Peter’s slick finger nudges at his hole, tracing the tight circle of muscle over and over again. All those nerve endings make Stiles feel molten. Sometimes that would be enough, but not right now, no matter how much he wants it.

He tilts his hips, pressing back against Peter’s finger. Peter breaches him, giving him a moment to let the sensation settle before he starts to move. Stiles rocks against him, taking him deeper, and Peter is more than happy to let him lead. Stiles catches his own bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes closed as he concentrates on getting ready, because this is good but it isn’t what he wants. He just has to relax and open up and then he can have everything.

When Peter slips another finger in alongside the first, Stiles arches his back, already too hot all over. He opens his eyes, looking down at Peter, his breath catching in his throat. He’s looking up at Stiles with such utter adoration, as if this skinny little human is all his dreams come true. It seems unlikely, but there’s so much sincerity in that gaze that, in that moment, Stiles can’t doubt it.

He moans, lifting himself up and grabbing the lube, dribbling it messily over Peter’s cock. He has no patience and he doesn’t care about foreplay. He just wants that cock inside him. Peter doesn’t argue. His pupils are blown so wide, his jaw slack, his cheeks painted with such a beautiful blush. Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this. He’s always such a cocky tease. Right now he looks vulnerable. Stiles pauses, letting that fact sink in, letting it truly resonate, and then he lifts up, grabbing Peter’s cock in his hand.

He wriggles around until he finds the right angle and then he pushes back against the blunt tip of Peter’s cock. It instantly feels like too much. He bears down but it feels overwhelming, like it’s never going to fit. Stiles grits his teeth. Peter didn’t fly across the country for Stiles to suddenly forget how to sit on a dick.

He eases off, rubbing the head of Peter’s cock against his hole, the slippery feeling, the promise of it, making something unfurl inside Stiles. Peter makes a broken sound in his throat, his hands coming up to hold onto Stiles’ hips, but he’s not trying to urge him on. It’s as though he just needs to be touching him.

It’s all so imperfect but imperfect is real and real is honest and honesty is all Stiles has really wanted from anybody in his life. Right now it feels like they’re baring their souls to each other. Who knew mediocre sex could be so revolutionary.

Stiles starts to sink down, his body and his mind giving as one. He wants this so much and when he’s determined he can make anything happen. Peter’s grip tightens on his hips as Stiles slides down his cock, his mind blanking out for a moment as his jaw goes slack. All consuming. Everything is Peter in that moment, everything is that place where their bodies are joined together.

Stiles starts to rock his hips, taking Peter a little deeper each time, letting the sensation of being filled consume him. He feels a twinge as he finally sinks down on him, a little quicker than he should, but he’s impatient and it’s been so long and Peter is _here._ Stiles lets out a little sob, sitting there with Peter’s cock buried inside him. It makes him feel powerful, gives him a sense of belonging. Peter Hale got on a plane and turned up at his door because he missed him. Peter is fucking _here._

As Stiles sits there, a dead weight straddling his hips, Peter starts to trail his hands up and down Stiles’ thighs, a tickly sensation that makes him shiver and then makes them both moan as he clenches Peter’s cock inside him. He gives a little laugh, grinning down at Peter. This is how it’s supposed to be. Open and loving and fun.

He reaches down, taking hold of Peter’s hands, pressing their palms together, their fingers interlacing, and then he leans his weight into the touch, Peter more than happy to brace him as he starts to move.

It’s slow at first, his body still settling into it, his mind not quite willing to believe this isn’t a wet dream. Peter is so solid though, beneath him, inside him. Inescapable. Stiles speeds up his hips and he can already tell this isn’t going to last long. He has no idea how long Peter is here for. He has no idea what his plans are. He didn’t even think to ask. He feels confident that this is just the warm up though, the opening round. They can build up to spectacular later.

Stiles arches his back, rolling his hips, gripping hold of Peter’s hands tightly. He moves with abandon, certain that Peter won’t let him fall, chasing his pleasure so shamelessly. He knows that Peter feels it too, it’s not selfishness, it’s a need like an itch that he’d tear his skin off to scratch. He hadn’t thought he was lonely or hard up, but now he feels like he’s breathing for the first time in months, filling his lungs.

He moves faster, his ass slapping against Peter’s hips every time he bottoms out. His stamina doesn’t usually hold out in this position, but Peter flipping him with a growl is half of the fun. Right now, it feels limitless, fuelled by giddy exuberance and the thrill of a true surprise. Peter is _here._ Stiles grins again, his face angled up at the ceiling as he chases that perfect angle, but then he lets it all slip away, head falling down to meet Peter’s eyes. Nothing else really matters.

He lets go of Peter’s hands, wraps his own fingers around his cock, the shock of pleasure making him tighten around Peter. He places his other hand flat on Peter’s chest, holding himself up as he moves, fucking himself on Peter’s cock, working them both, stroking his own cock in time. It’s stupidly, wonderfully amazing. Every part. Especially Peter’s blue eyes on him, dark pupils not able to drown out that colour that might just be the most beautiful thing in the world. Some people think blue’s a sad colour, a cold colour, but Stiles has always surrounded himself with it. Little boy blue. It fills him with nothing but heat now as Peter gazes at him, hands shaky on Stiles’ thighs as he comes inside him.

Stiles grins again, breathless and lopsided. He did that. It makes him feel proud and grateful and powerful all at once. He grasps his cock harder, slipping through the precome, clenching down hard on Peter’s softening cock to get him over the edge, coming over Peter’s stomach. Because Peter is his. And he’s here.

He falls down on Peter, letting his cock slip out of him, stretching out his legs with a wince at how stiff they feel. Worth it. He lays his head down on Peter’s chest and listens to his thundering heart and his rasping breaths, how wonderfully alive he feels. Peter’s fingers comb through his hair as Stiles keeps his ear pressed against his chest, listening to everything slow as he catches his breath, coming back down. It’s enough to lull Stiles off to sleep. He’s about to go when he hears the familiar sound of jingling keys just outside his door. It takes him a moment to realise why that’s a bad thing. His eyes go wide. _His roommate._

He manages to grab the blanket just in time, covering up the worst of their compromised position. There’s still a tangle of naked legs though, sweaty chests pressed together. Their dignity is not quite in tact as Simon steps into the room, blissfully oblivious until he’s not.

He pauses, already halfway across the room on autopilot, looking at Stiles and then at Peter. Something passes over his face and then his eyes flick up to the photos above Stiles’ bed. “Oh. It’s Peter.”

“Peter came to visit,” Stiles says, trying to sound cheerful, but he’s cringing far too hard. He’s an asshole. It’s not like he could have given a heads up though. He didn’t know.

“Yeah,” Simon says, not quite sure where to look now. He tosses his backpack onto his bed. “I’m going to go grab a coffee. Whoever isn’t wearing pants by the time I come back is just going to have to deal with me sitting here doing my classics assignment.”

“We’ll have pants on,” Stiles promises.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Peter says ridiculously smoothly, offering out his hand. Simon stares at it with something like horror.

“I’m good,” he says, edging away.

He fumbles with the door as he tries to get out and it takes all of Stiles’ self-control not to burst out laughing at the utter absurdity of it. And because he’s so fucking happy. Peter is _here._

 

__

_i love you_

They’re in a penthouse. Peter planned everything so intricately, the entire afternoon and evening spent spoiling Stiles and taking him to amazing places that Stiles hasn’t even discovered in his new home yet. Nothing gets past Peter though. He must have done some serious research. This wasn’t an impulsive visit. That thought might make Stiles giddier than the fact that he’s here in the first place. It’s not about need. It’s about want. Stiles never knew there was such a difference, but he thinks he’s starting to learn.

Things have slowed down now, they’ve settled into being by each other’s sides, being in one another’s space. Putting his clothes on, separating from Peter when all he wanted to do was nap on him like a cat, had felt like such a huge punishment, even if it was one he deserved for letting his roommate walk in on that. But if they’d stayed there all day then he would have missed out on all of this real time with Peter. He would have missed out on all those things they share that have nothing to do with the bedroom, even if they always end up there eventually.

Peter undresses him slowly, piece by piece, as though they have all of eternity and not borrowed time in a borrowed place. Stiles didn’t know that Airbnb did places as nice as this. It’s so spacious and decadent with views over the city, but really, who cares? As soon as he looks at Peter, everything else is forgotten.

Peter’s fingers pull his jacket from his shoulders as Stiles looks out of the floor to ceiling windows, so undeniably unlike Beacon Hills, but he can’t feel homesick when Peter presses kisses against his neck, so soft and tender, making goosebumps rise up on his skin. He turns, finding himself wrapped up in Peter’s arms, his strong, safe arms, smiling fondly at him before leaning in for a kiss.

He feels like he could do this forever. The way their lips drag and their breaths are shared between them, the intimacy and certainty. There’s no rush now. They have each other. This isn’t about making up for lost time or gratifying their desperate hormones. This is just about them, in this moment, knowing that there’s going to be so many more like it, even if Peter will have to get back on a plane again far too soon. They belong to each other. Distance doesn’t change that.

Peter slides his hands inside Stiles’ T-shirt, warm palms pressing against his skin, fingers trailing patterns. Stiles groans, lifting up his arms, allowing Peter to undress him. Stiles has always been proactive in sex, has always been eager and ready to go. Being stripped by someone else, it made him feel vulnerable, gave him far too much time to think. Now, it feels like an act of pure adoration, one that he’s willing to accept. This is about so much more than sex and sex is about so much more than getting off. Having Peter here now brings everything into stark focus, all the words they never said. They’re not those people. Sometimes it’s about showing and not telling though.

As Stiles brings his arms back down, his fingers find Peter’s buttons, working them open one by one. He feels so calm, focused on his little task, that nervous energy that usually fuels him absent for once. It’s not because he already got off today, it’s not unusual to finish a day the same way they started it if the opportunity presents itself. It’s something else.

The care that Peter put into this trip, how good it feels to just be by his side, to hold his hand and look around hidden comic book stores and eat at an understated but amazing restaurant with atmospheric lighting and eyes only for each other. Stiles knows what it means. It’s a declaration of love. He wants to say it back in the only way that seems appropriate. Not with words. They’re not those people. Stiles is just going to have to show him.

He tugs Peter’s shirt out of his pants to get to the last few buttons, Peter swaying towards him as though he’s not powerful enough to stand his ground when the truth is he just doesn’t want to though. That’s such a powerful message. Once all the buttons are open, Stiles takes a step forward, sliding his hands inside Peter’s shirt, roaming over warm skin as he leans in for a kiss, long and drawn out and saying everything he can’t. No, not can’t. Everything he doesn’t need to. They both know exactly where they stand. Right here with each other. They’ve proved that so many times. Stiles is going to prove it again tonight.

Peter starts to guide him slowly, hands on Stiles’ hips as he pulls him towards the bedroom, not breaking the kiss. Stiles is never sure on his feet at the best of times, but even with his eyes closed and his tongue in Peter’s mouth, his steps never falter. It’s such pure trust. It’s everything.

Peter turns him, the back of Stiles’ legs touching the edge of the bed. Stiles smiles, breaking the kiss to push the shirt back off Peter’s shoulders. He trails his hands down over the exposed skin and then drops backwards onto the bed, shuffling to settle himself against the pillows, looking up at Peter in invitation.

There’s a thrill of anticipation as Peter climbs onto the bed, crawling up Stiles’ body. He dips his head as he gets to Stiles’ waist, kissing up that strip of hair below his bellybutton, tongue flicking out to dip inside. Stiles lifts his hips up, not really with any purpose, just a silent, irresistible urging. Peter works his way up, trailing kisses, dragging lips, giving little nibbles at ribs and collarbones. As soon as he’s close enough, Stiles takes hold of his face with both hands, pulling their mouths together.

Peter holds him tight, kissing him so deep and slow, making Stiles keen. He slides a hand into Peter’s hair, body pressing upwards, their legs tangling together. Stiles feels like he could do this forever. He doesn’t complain when Peter’s hands move down his body though, hips lifting up so that he can get at the waistband of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles breaks the kiss, still touching Peter’s face, carding through his hair, as Peter pulls the zipper down on his jeans, Stiles hissing as the pressure is released.

He lifts his hips, Peter sitting back to pull his jeans and underwear down, and then he’s starting with the slow trail back up Stiles’ body all over again, starting right down at his feet this time. He kisses the soles, fingers trailing ticklishly at his ankles before his lips follow after them. He works his way up, fingertips hooking behind Stiles’ knee and drawing his legs further apart. Stiles would let himself be led anywhere right now.

Peter kisses his way up the insides of Stiles’ thighs, alternating between left and right until he’s breathing hotly over the base of his cock, hands going to Stiles’ hips. He holds him firm as he blows deliberately up the length of his hard cock, damp with precome and so sensitive. Stiles moans and presses upwards into Peter’s grasp, but he’s not really trying to move. He likes the security of Peter’s strong hands.

Peter sticks out his tongue, licking up from the base of Stiles’ cock to the tip painfully slowly. When he reaches the slit he dips inside, groaning at the taste, the vibration making Stiles’ entire body tense. It feels incredible. Peter closes his lips around the head, tongue circling a couple of times before he pulls back with a little pop, looking up at Stiles with dark eyes. Stiles gives him a come hither motion and Peter smiles warmly at him like he’s touched to be wanted.

He moves up Stiles’ body and Stiles reaches for his pants as soon as he’s close enough, impressed by how steady his hands are as he unhooks the button, pulling down the zipper. Peter works his way out of them, laying over Stiles again as he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a bottle of lube that he must have placed there earlier. Stiles can’t help but give a little laugh.

“You just assumed I was going to be a sure thing, Mr. Hale?”

Peter looks down at him with such earnest eyes. “I’ve never been surer.”

Stiles swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his eyes going misty. “You need to be inside me.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Stiles spreads his legs, watching as Peter slicks up his cock. With the excess lube he reaches forward, smearing it over Stiles’ hole and dipping inside. Stiles gives a soft little moan of encouragement, angling his hips upwards. Peter pulls back, touching Stiles’ face with his clean hand as he lines himself up, pressing his cock firmly against his entrance. Stiles is ready for him, his body so easy and relaxed. He lifts his hips, meeting Peter’s thrust halfway, his breath faltering as he feels himself opened up.

Peter pauses, thumb rubbing over Stiles’ cheek, their eyes fixed together even though Stiles feels unfocused. He rocks his hips, making a little noise at the friction, and Peter takes his cue, pressing himself a tiny bit deeper. They move together, feeding off each other, Stiles’ body responding so easily to Peter, to the sensation of being filled. It never, ever gets old, but it feels somehow monumental right now. Stiles is ready and accepting. Peter is careful and loving. It all just slots into place. Literally.

When Peter is moving smoothly inside him, Stiles arches his back off the bed, pushing into him. He wants to feel nothing but this. He wants to give Peter everything. They move together, a push and pull and give and take, so utterly consumed by each other. Everything is looks and shared breaths and tender touches and Peter fucking into him so perfectly. The whole universe could burn down around them and Stiles doesn’t think either one of them would notice. It’s such a freeing feeling. Nothing bad can touch him now. Everything is exactly as it should be.

When he comes, he thinks that he might say the words out loud but he’s not sure of anything in that moment. It doesn’t matter. Saying or not saying the words has never been the point. 

As they lie together, sweaty bodies and tangled limbs and utter contentment, Stiles can’t keep the grin off his face. He thought he had a boring afternoon of studying and cafeteria food ahead of him but instead he got to spend the most perfect day ever with his boyfriend. He can’t believe how lucky he is.

He lifts his head from where it’s resting on Peter’s chest, snuggled into his side, Peter’s arms wrapped heavy around him. “Thank you for today. It was incredible.”

Peter smiles at him, smug satisfaction on his face. “Wait until you see what I have planned for next time.”

Stiles’ grin gets bigger as he lies back down, squeezing Peter with his entire body. Next time. He can’t wait.


End file.
